


Seven Days of Christmas

by LadyKenz347



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Black Ice - Freeform, Christmas, Co-workers, Community: dhr_advent, F/M, One Night Stand, Pining, dramione - Freeform, hookup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:21:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21538147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/pseuds/LadyKenz347
Summary: After a one night stand after the Ministry Christmas Party, Hermione avoids Draco Malfoy at all costs.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 35
Kudos: 576
Collections: D/Hr Advent 2019





	Seven Days of Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the DHr advent for hosting this wonderful annual event and to everyone who threw my little old name in the ring to participate! I had a lot of fun and hope you all have a wonderful holiday season. 
> 
> My prompt was Black Ice. 
> 
> Alpha + Beta credit goes to MCal and Ravenslight. Thank you both for being my little Christmas angels :)

**FRIDAY**

“Since when do you scowl at Christmas trees?” Harry startled her from her reverie, and she threw a harmless elbow back at him. “I mean it! It’s Christmas; you _love_ Christmas.” 

“I know… it just doesn’t feel like Christmas this year.” Her heart sank heavy in her chest, and her breath shook as she set it free. 

Harry took a step closer to her, eyeing her carefully as she poked at the bright, shiny bauble on the tree. “You’re _really_ not coming for Christmas?” 

Her throat clenched, tightening to the point of painful as she tried her best to make words form properly on her tongue. They never came, so she shook her head and tried for a weak smile. 

“Ron will be fine! He wants you to come, honestly. And it won’t be Christmas without you—”

“It will be,” Hermione interjected. “The one thing I’ve learned these last few years is that the big moments are still there even if you aren’t sharing it with the people you love. It’s not even about Ron; it’s been over six months since we ended things and…” She paused, emotion prickling behind her eyes. “No. It’s nothing to do with Ron. I just am not in the holiday spirit. I wouldn’t even be going tomorrow if I could get out of it.” 

Harry sighed, chewing on his cheek as he seemed to consider trying to press the matter further. Thankfully, he didn’t. “I’ll come by after supper. Just you and me?” 

She almost protested, but it was easier not to. “Sure.” 

It was just another day, another holiday, another milestone for which Hermoine Granger would be terribly, terribly alone. 

**SATURDAY**

“Granger?” Hermione froze at the familiar—albeit, aggravating—voice. “Well, if you don’t look positively sinful.” 

The dress she’d chosen was simple in its design, the color of evergreen trees with thin straps and a plunging back; the material was silky and cool to the touch, and it had a simple slit just up past her knee. She felt a single finger kiss the top of her spine and then slide down to the middle of her back. 

Against her own volition, her nose wrinkled as his breath ghosted over her bare shoulders and she knocked back the rest of her champagne. “Shoo, Malfoy. You’re already bothering me.” 

“Oof! I can see you’re back to being the epitome of Christmas cheer.” 

Warmth bloomed along her lower back as his hand came to rest there, his face edging fractionally closer. Her breath hitched, and she stumbled her way through a long breath. “Press your luck, Malfoy. I’ll show just how cheerful I am this year.” 

It’s not that she liked the sodding fool—absolutely not. It’s that he was so devilishly handsome and always in her bloody space. Ever since her split with Ron, his incessant annoyances had reached an all-time high. There was an obnoxious amount of shameless flirting, which he did just to see her blush, and then he’d retreat back into the shadows of whence he came. 

“Cheerful?” A smirk tugged on the corner of his mouth, and he pulled her into his side. “I’d rather see how naughty you can be, Granger.” With a sharp jab of her elbow, he barked out a laugh and released her. “Fine, have it your way. All work then. You finished prepping the precedence for the Gaelin case after the holiday?”

Snorting, Hermoine rolled her eyes and snagged _another_ glass of champagne. “Don’t patronize me, Malfoy. I’ve had them done for over a week. Now, if you’ll— _bloody hell._ ” Her gaze settled on Ron near the door, and she growled as she took a quick sidestep and hid behind Malfoy’s lean frame, curling one hand against his shoulder as she peeked over. “Who the hell is he with?” she hissed, and Malfoy began shaking with laughter. 

“Looks like—his sister-in-law? The Veela witch.” 

The crowd parted, and her eyes landed on the stunning blonde at Ron’s side, not Fleur but her younger sister. It wasn’t jealousy, per se—okay, maybe it was. Gabrielle had been _several_ years younger than them, and Hermione had heard that she’d recently moved to London to be closer to her sister, but this was quite the surprise. 

Ron beamed with her at his side, grabbing two flutes of champagne and offering her one as she strutted towards through the room. It was nauseating. 

“You’re not _jealous_ , are you?” Malfoy asked, peering back over his shoulder at her with a knit brow. 

“Of course not.” But then the crowds thinned, and she quite nearly made eye contact with Ron. “ _Ack_!” She let out a low hiss and dragged Malfoy back until they were hiding behind a pillar. 

Once behind the safety of cover, Malfoy turned and did her snooping for her. “Your arse is better.” 

At that Hermione couldn’t help but laugh, and she swatted at his chest, resting back on the pillar with a relieved sigh. “You’re always teasing me.” 

“Saving your arse, is more like it. That _perfect_ arse—” His brows edged closer together as his grey eyes lit with mischievous glee. 

More laughter trickled past her lips as she finished her third— _or was it fourth?_ —glass of champagne. He smirked down at her, a slow happy sort of smile that made her heart flop. It _wasn’t_ that she fancied the sod, she reminded herself again. It was just the roguish handsomeness of him. 

“He’s coming,” Malfoy said low under his breath, and Hermione cursed. The part of her skin that suddenly brushed against the pillar prickled and tightened, a shiver rippling over her skin. 

“Shite. Okay… I can handle this. I can—” All her mumbling was cut off as Malfoy’s lips captured hers in a soft kiss. His hand came down to rest on her hip, the other curling around the base of her skull as he stepped into her.

Panic shot through her, and her hands fell uselessly to her side, her eyes rounding as she stared at him. But then something inexplicably shifted, his lips moved _just so_ against hers, and she melted into his touch, her back arching off the pillar and one hand snagging his lapels, crushing their bodies together. The sodding prick had the audacity to smirk as he pressed her hard against the pillar. 

Their lips parted for the briefest of moments, and she was just about to chastise him, but he was on her again. His tongue brushed along the seam of her lips, and Merlin, help her, she opened for him. A fervid blush bloomed on her chest and set her skin aflame as his tongue danced against hers, and when he finally pulled away, his heated gaze stayed trained on her lips. 

“Enjoying the show, Weasley?” 

Blinking twice, Hermoine was brought back to the present moment, and she turned to her right to see none other than Ron Weasley and Gabrielle Delacour standing there, gawking at them with wide, horrified expressions. 

“ _Hermione_?” Ron asked, his voice low and breathy, and Hermione’s blush somehow deepened. 

“Ron,” she breathed, nodding in their direction as Malfoy stayed firmly pressed against her. “Gabrielle. Enjoying the party?” 

“Not as much as you, it seems,” Ron said plainly, eyeing Malfoy curiously. “I didn’t realize you two were seeing each other.” 

_Oh_. She’d fallen, or rather been dragged, into a lie, and her brain struggled to come up with a proper follow up to his statement. 

“Have you seen Harry?” The obtuse question tumbled past her lips, and Malfoy’s chest rumbled with quiet laughter as she turned to scowl up at him. 

The corners of Ron’s eyes tightened. “He’s at the table already. Does this mean you’ll be joining us, Malfoy?” 

“I’ve got my own table, Weasley. But couldn’t resist a little holiday snog when given the opportunity.” His palm tapped her arse, and she yelped and swatted at him. “See you soon, Granger.” Malfoy finally stepped away from her, fussing with his robes as he turned back for the party, giving her a sly wink before disappearing into the crowd. 

The silence that stretched on in his absence was horrifying and so long that Hermione and Gabrielle’s eyes both widened into perfect circles as they stared at the floating lights overhead. 

“I guess we should all head for our table, then? Unless you have anyone else you wanted to snog first?” Had it been Harry to say it, she would have known it was in good humor. But she knew Ron too well; the tightness to his voice was his specialty. Pure passive-aggressive charm. 

“Not before supper,” she said, smiling tightly at him. “Maybe after.” 

She turned for the table at the head of the room without waiting on Ron or his date. 

xXx

The Ministry had spared no expense on their Yule Gala. Countless Christmas trees were dusted in glistening white snow, the same that fell from the enchanted ceiling and disappeared just before it touched the ground. 

The entire room was blanketed in enchantments, glittering orbs of light floating softly around the room, with pennants of soft white chiffon hanging from the pillars. It was quite possibly the most romantic event Hermione had ever attended—or would be, if she had attended with someone. 

Sometime around when Gabrielle nuzzled into Ron’s ear and began whispering French nothings—that Hermione was quite certain he didn’t understand—Hermione had snagged a passing champagne _bottle_ from the waitstaff and began filling her own flute, snarling at Harry when he’d attempted to take some for himself. 

And now, she sat at their table, _alone_ , watching as her friends twirled under the glittering snowfall, lost in love. Her chin was cradled in her palm as she stared longingly at the dance floor and it wasn’t until the sharp scratching of the seat next to her startled her from her reverie did she realize that she was so entranced by the dancers in front of her. 

Clearing her throat and blinking to try and bring a bit of soberness back to her vision, her gaze landed on Draco Malfoy. Furrowing her brow, she turned back to watch the lovers dancing the night away. 

“Do you want to dance?” The question startled her so much that she choked on her own saliva and began hacking and sputtering, staring at him with rounded eyes. 

“ _What?”_

_“_ Dance? You know, what you’re watching everyone else doing and drooling on that pretty little dress over.”

Hermione snorted. “I’m not drooling. And _hey!_ Why on earth did you kiss me? That was— well, it was—”

“Yes? Come now, Granger. Surely that brilliant brain of yours can conjure up a few more words to string together.” Smirking at her, he crossed his ankle over his knee and draped his arm behind her. Merlin, the man was as smug as he was handsome. Which, she supposed, made sense. 

“It was inappropriate. I didn’t like it.” Her spine straightened as she tried to return her gaze to the dance floor, but his obnoxious laughter trilled through the air, and her gaze shot back to him. “Why are you laughing at me, Draco Malfoy?”

“I’m laughing because you were practically purring like a Kneazel, Granger. You don’t have to pretend to like me, but don’t do me the disservice about lying if you enjoyed kissing me.” 

The blood drained from Hermoine’s face. Partly because he was a fucking prat, but mostly because he was right. She _did_ like kissing him. And as if on cue, his thumb found her shoulder blade, tracing small circles as he stared back at her. 

“You’re insufferable.” 

“You’re beautiful, and I want to dance.” Draco’s touch left her, and she found she felt cold without it; he stood, buttoning his suit jacket and holding out a palm in her direction. She stared at it with a watchful eye, the champagne buzzing between her ears and imploring her to take his hand, his kiss, and whatever else he was going to offer tonight. “Come on, Granger. Just one dance. I don’t even bite—not unless you’re begging for it.” 

Her gaze shot up to his, watching as his gray eyes turned molten and dangerous. Sighing, in the long, petulant way she’d mastered over the years, she placed her fingers in his, ignoring the way her stomach fluttered at his touch. 

Once under the falling snow and dutifully tucked into his chest, they started an easy sway that even _she—_ in her too-high heels and drunkenness—couldn’t mess up. The hand that he’d placed firmly at her waist slipped to the curve of her bum, his fingers just barely gracing the line of knickers. 

“Your hand is awfully lower than what I would expect of a Pureblood gentleman, Malfoy,” she teased, her lips pursing. 

His cheeks pinkened delightfully, and to her utter surprise, he chuckled. “Ah, haven’t you heard, Granger?” He spun her gently, pulling her quickly back into his embrace and bumping his nose against hers. “I’m reformed from all that. I wouldn’t dare adhere to anything my treacherous upbringing tried to force on me. Which leaves me fully able to tell you—” He paused, his lips dipping to her ear as her breasts pressed against his hard chest. “—that I want to take you from this ballroom and have you spread over my bed within the hour. I want you positively _unhinged_ , Granger.” 

Hermione was quite sure she’d died. That was the only way she could describe this particular out of body experience she was having. Nestled in his arms, listening to him talk to her like one of his wanton little tarts… most alarming of all was that quite seriously considering it. 

His lips pressed to the hollow behind her ear and then again just below, and _Merlin_ help her, but she craned her neck to allow him to latch his lips on the taut tendon in her throat. “Okay, Malfoy,” she blurted, pulling her face back to stare up at him. “Your place or mine.” 

A slow, sinful smirk spread across his lips and he caught the flesh of his bottom lip between his perfect teeth.

**SUNDAY**

“Holy fuck,” Hermione groaned, digging her palms into her eye sockets and rolling away from the sunlight pouring into the room. Pain lanced through her skull, and with a fitful, temperamental kick of her feet, she grabbed the edge of the thick duvet and dragged it up and over her head. 

The only issue was that it was a duvet. Which meant it was decidedly not a quilt. And on her bed, she always kept the quilt her grandmother had made for her, which meant—

Hermione’s eyes snapped open, finding that she was encapsulated in white sheets, and even though she screwed her eyes shut trying in vain to convince herself otherwise, she knew that she was completely, and utterly, stark naked. 

“ _Fuck,”_ she repeated, hissing under her breath. 

Peeling back the edge of the comforter, she stared out at the posh room, adorned with modern, sharp lines and minimal decor. In violent bursts, the night before flashed behind her eyes. 

Nervously swigging down Firewhisky, toppling through the doorway with Malfoy pressed hard against her and pushing the thin straps from her shoulders. His scorching kiss trailing down her body and finding her aching sex, then sinking inside of her again… and again… _and again._

Her cheeks flamed in a furious blush, and she buried herself once again under the sheet. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

All she needed was a plan. She needed to somehow get from being naked in this bed to clothed in her flat with little to no interaction with Malfoy. She craned her neck, listening for clues of his presence, and when she was pleased enough that she found nothing, she slid from the safety of the bed. 

Standing in naught but the skin she was born in, Hermione turned frantically, searching for the silky material of her dress and finding bloody nothing. Growling, she padded to his dresser and began ripping open drawers, rolling her eyes at his precise folding methods. 

Finally, she found his shirts and yanked one from its home, uncaring that it was Slytherin green or that MALFOY was emblazoned on the back. She tried another drawer and found his pants, grabbing a loose pair and sliding her legs in, then she rushed for the rest of her belongings. At the very least, she found her clutch and her wand, and she slipped from the room and towards the Floo. 

Her breath caught as she heard the rattle of a doorknob, and she rushed for a fistful of Floo Powder, her eyes widening in horror as she stepped through the grate, barely catching sight of Malfoy in a thick wool coat, pink cheeks and holding a pair of coffees and a brown paper bag in his hands. 

**MONDAY**

“You’re here!” Harry crooned, depositing a pastry on her desk with a wide, devious smile. “ _Soooo_ … how was your sex?”

“ _Harry!”_

_“_ What?” He choked out the word, laughter bubbling from his lips. “Try and tell me you didn’t fuck Malfoy. G’on!” 

Hermione’s lips fell open because she was about to say that very thing but _ugh_ , she couldn’t. “Don’t start, Harry. I’m mortified enough as it is.” Flashes of her orgasm burst to life behind her clenched lids, and she swiftly pushed the pastry away and jumped to her feet. 

“He’s coming, by the way,” Harry hissed, jerking his chin in the direction of the lift. She turned, eyes catching on a familiar shock of blond locks. With a loud _thud,_ she fell to the floor, her knees slamming into the cheap carpet, earning a pained grimace _._

“Fucking hell,” she hissed. “Get me out of here, Potter, and I’ll babysit.” 

Harry sucked air through the side of his mouth, making a displeased little clucking noise, and Hermione’s fist acted of its own accord and punched him hard in the thigh. 

“ _Agh!_ ” Harry’s scream filled the office, and there was a long beat of uncomfortable silence as her fellow solicitors stared wide-eyed at him. “Sorry! Sorry… just screaming for no reason. Don’t mind me.” His cheeks coloured in a fierce blush, and he glared down at her. “ _New Year’s Eve_.”

“Fine, yes! New Year’s Eve, I don’t give a shite just distract him so I can get the bloody hell out of here.” 

“Deal.” Harry patted her curls in the most condescending way, and she managed one more punch to his leg, this time heralding a low groan as he limped towards Malfoy. 

Then Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, crawled on hands and knees and arse in the air, through her department and hid behind Solicitor Murphy as she rushed from her own place of work without a single backwards glance. 

**TUESDAY**

“Happy Christmas, Hermione!” Seamus barreled into her, his beer sloshing on her boots as he wrapped her in a fierce hug. “First rounds on me, yeah! Tell ‘em the boss says so!” 

Laughing, Hermione returned the hug and shook the ale from her feet. “Thanks, Seamus. Happy Christmas!” 

“Yah done with work, then?” 

“I am,” she shouted, grinning as someone bumped into her. “Until the New Year.” 

“Well, yer always welcome anytime, ‘ermione! Anytime!” His glassy, red-rimmed gaze caught on someone new entering his pub, and Hermione was quickly pushed to the side. 

Shaking her head, Hermione made her way to the bar, ordering a stout and turning to take in the chaos that was the Rugger Bugger on the last workday before Christmas. Her friends were all at various levels of inebriation: Ron and Harry were swaying near the frosted front window, Luna was prattling away with half of Ginny’s attention, and Malfoy was—

_Fuck._ Malfoy.

The blond was currently drinking from a Firewhisky, staring at her intently over the rim as Neville chattered away in her ear. She continued sucking on her drink, trying in vain to keep her gaze away from the chiseled man whose stare was boring a hole in the side of her face. 

Once she’d made it through the first stout and turned to order her next, a hand was at her lower back, and the familiar cologne of Draco Malfoy assaulted her senses. 

“Granger,” he purred, “You’re harder to catch than a snitch.”

“Malfoy,” she said, bringing her glass to her lips without taking a sip, “Having fun?”

With a soft snort, Malfoy hand rested on the bar, and he took a step in front of her, caging her against the bar top. “We gonna talk about how you skived off?” 

Hermione balked. “Absolutely not. We’re going to pretend the entire ordeal never happened and then return on with our lives as though you didn’t seduce me—” Barked laughter cut her off, and her eyes narrowed. “What is it you want with me, Malfoy? Want everyone to know we shagged so you can humiliate me? _Oh, Granger the swot turned slag?”_

There was a barely-there flicker in his gray eyes and his brows flinched. “Of course not. You think I’d do that?”

“Yes.” _Liar._ The word hung between them. Any lingering softness in Malfoy’s glare hardened, and he took a step away from her. 

“Happy Christmas, Granger.”

Her stomach twisted and pained, her heart sinking as her fingers reached in his direction for a splinter of a second before falling lamely at her side. Malfoy was already gone, weaving through the crowd with a renewed mission, and Hermione was alone—again. 

**WEDNESDAY**

Christmas Eve. 

Hermoine refused a tree. Refused merriment of any sort, actually. 

Harry stopped by with wine, and she begrudgingly accepted under the strict condition that she be able to drink it midday. 

And so here she was, in a tattered t-shirt and old sweats, sucking on a bottle of expensive Cabernet Sauvignon at half three. 

“He’s obnoxious is what he is.” 

“Sorry… who?”

“He just struts around like he’s better than the rest, and I’m bloody sick of it.” Wine sloshed in the wide globe of her glass, and she scowled at the stain on her sweats as Crooks ducked for cover. “It’s just that he’s obnoxious—”

“Right.” Harry laughed. “You said that.” 

Hermione fixed him with a pointed glare and tipped her wine glass back once more. “ _It’s true_.” 

“I know. Well, listen, I’ve got dinner—are you sure you don’t want to come? I mean, I’m sure we can scrounge up a sobering draught so Molly doesn’t die of a stroke that you’re fucking piss arse drunk on Christmas Eve.”

“What! I’m not going anywhere—especially not the bloody Burrow.” Hermione was absolutely affronted at the idea. 

“You know, you don’t need to be alone. I know you feel like all you’ve got is yourself, but you’re wrong.” 

She was on her feet, stumbling into his arms and crushing her messy self into his as happy tears slipped over her cheeks. “Love you, Harry.” 

“Love you, ‘ermione. See you after supper tomorrow. But if you change your mind, please come. Okay?” His voice was muffled by her wild mane of curls, and she laughed, nodding in agreement. 

Moments later he was gone, and she stood in her stained sweatpants and ratty t-shirt, staring at the Floo with a scrutinous glare. She barely had time to think before she was stomping through the grate, calling out Malfoy’s townhome before she could register her slippery, fuzzy socks sliding through his Floo. 

“Malfoy!” she hollered, in no way as kind as she meant it. “Malfoy, come out here this instant!”

A door creaked, followed by soft padding of foot steps, and suddenly he was there. Stupidly blond and obnoxiously handsome, staring at her with a curious but amused expression that left her irate. 

“Why are you so annoying?” she spat, fists landing into her hips. 

A choked noise escaped him, and with a start she realized that he was actually dressed similarly to her: sleep trousers and a thin white shirt, even though it was far past the decent hour for a proper Brit to be dressed as such. 

“You really have the audacity to march into my house and ask me why _I’m_ so annoying? Piss off, Granger.” 

“Why’d you kiss me?” The words pushed past her lips without her permission, and she wanted to shrink back into the safety of the Floo when he reared on her, eyes dancing with a furious flame. “Why did you even start this entire ridiculous thing? Because I was fine before you—”

“ _Fine_ ? Granger, you were ghosting.” He marched towards her, and with a loud huff she sidestepped, socks slipping on the slick wood of his flat. “And you know what? I wanted you. I wanted to flirt with you and kiss you and _fuck you.”_

At that, Hermione gasped; her hands came up, plugging her ears as she marched for the front door and out into the cold air. She stomped down the steps, growling with each step, and just as he appeared in the doorframe behind her, her foot landed on the slick concrete, and the soft fabric of her sock flew out from under her. 

The last she registered was the sound of her skull cracking against the black ice. 

**THURSDAY - CHRISTMAS**

This was the second time Hermione awoke in this bed. It wasn’t that it wasn’t a lovely bed; she adored the way her body sank into the thick plush of the mattress and the way the bedding seemed somehow feather-light while still warm and inviting all at once. 

However, this was the first time she was waking up in it clothed. She winced as she woke, squinting away from the light streaming through the door. Her voice was haggard as she coughed, rolling onto her side and cradling her skull. 

“ _Merlin, fuck_ —” she groaned.

“When did you acquire such a horrid mouth? You cuss more than any Slytherin I’ve ever met.” 

Slowly, her gaze dragged upward, landing on Malfoy in his denims and a white long-sleeved shirt shoved up to his elbows, staring at her with that very Malfoy-esque quality. 

“What happened? Can I have some water?” She pushed up to sitting, wincing at the throbbing pain in her skull. 

“You fell, like a complete idiot, because you refused to talk to me like an adult.” Hermione’s mouth fell open to protest, but he didn’t give her a moment. “Don’t worry, a healer—several, in fact—were brought in to make sure you’re fine. Which you are.”

“I hit my head?” Her fingers wrapped around the knot in the back of her head, and she flinched away from the simple touch. 

“Yes,” he quipped. “You stormed out of here and onto a patch of black ice and knocked your silly little swotty brain loose. You slept—alone, might I add, before you accuse me of anything nefarious—for the rest of the night, probably because you were drunk off your arse.” 

Rolling her eyes, Hermione shifted in her spot. “I didn’t accuse you of anything, Malfoy. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here—I could probably blame Harry, but really it’s just me. I’m—” Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she studied the stitching on his expensive bedding intently. “I’m just a stupid witch. I shouldn’t have come.” 

Ripping the duvet back, Hermoine made to leave, but Malfoy was at her side, tucking her back into his bed with a serious stare. 

“First of all, you’re not going anywhere. Second, for being such a bright little witch, you’re quite obtuse. Doctors’ orders: you’re to spend the day in bed—”

“It’s Christmas,” she blurted, deftly ignoring the feeling of his fingers on her arm and the way he smelled like cinnamon and evergreen. “I need to get home, and then you can get on with your day.” 

“I’ve no plans.” Malfoy shrugged. “I’d rather you get a little more healed and take the pain potion I’ve been withholding as punishment before I shag you again, though.” 

Hermione choked out a laugh and her hand rose up to slap at him, but his fingers closed around her wrist, his face suddenly far too close. 

“I never thought you to be a stupid witch, Granger. _Never_. But if you think for one second that I’m not completely, and annoyingly, infatuated with you, then you are most definitely stupid.” 

“Malfoy, you hate me,” she breathed, her eyes roving the sharp planes of his face and finally landing on his parted lips. 

“Sometimes,” he admitted, a smirk spreading. “But mostly, I’m entranced by you. Do you want to stay for Christmas?” 

The question was so simple. Laid out plainly enough that it caused her breath to hitch. Her first reaction was to say _absolutely not,_ but something stayed her tongue. She didn’t want to be alone—and what was more, she wanted to be with this insufferable prat for reasons she couldn’t understand. 

“Okay.” 

His smirk pulled into a grin, and suddenly his lips were on hers, moving in a distantly familiar dance. When he pulled away, he wasn’t wearing the smug expression that she associated him with. His tongue darted out to wet his lips before he caught his lip between his teeth. “Well, Happy Christmas, Granger.” 

A blush bloomed over her cheeks, and as loathe as she was to admit it, she was happy to be here, pounding headache and all. “Happy Christmas, Malfoy.” 

xXx

**EPILOGUE**

They were lost in each other. After a long, lazy day of books, arguing, and takeaway, wine and snogging, they were utterly unaware of everything else in the world. They'd stumbled through the Floo back to hers, just so she could clean up and change and spent the rest of the holiday tangled around each other. The world outside her flat ceased to exist; until the door was pushed open and Harry bleeding Potter was standing in its frame, eyes widening at the very naked Hermione Granger seated on Malfoy's lap. 

" _The fuck, Hermione! Malfoy! Get dressed!"_

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this bit of fluffy silliness! Happy holidays to you all!


End file.
